The Black Motor Car

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 12, 14 January 1905, Page 14

The Black Motor Car

By J. B. HARRIS BURLAND. Author of "Da,eobra," "The Unspeakable Tiring," Etc., Em.

CHAPTER XVIII. FACE TO FACE. The Countess of Heatherstone had firmly resolved not to sleep that night. It was the last night that the Heatherptone jewels would be in the house. Lord ilea therstone, in spite of her own wishes, had blazoned this information over the whole country. He had no wish for his house to bo any longer the happy hunting jrround of the criminal classes. It was certain that if the thieves intended to make another attempt, they would make it that night. Lady licatherstone wished to be a-wake to receive them. But nature, who follows her own fixed laws, and takes small count of human wishes, had ordained otherwise, and Lady Heatherstone was sound asleep in less than half an hour. The mask was laid aside, and her hand grasped the revolver under her pillow", Ihe mereiiui darkness shrouded her, as she lay there with bare face, and her fingers on the w capon. About Iwo o'clock sho woke from her elnr-p with a start. A wild dream of vain pursuit after her sou through long tracts of desolate and inouutainous country had terminated in a catastrophe. Lord Oven?liffe had Hung himself from the edge of a prot-ipice; f-hc bad grasped at him as he disappeared, slipped, and sank swiftly downwards through the darkness. Her very soul and life seemed to be drawn from bur as she dropped through the air like a sioue. The bottom rose to meet her —a lake of tire dotted ■with jiurged rocks. But she never reached the buttouj. She awoke, gasping for breath, bathed in a cold perspiration, trembling in every limb. She switched on the electric light by ti:e edge of her bed. and peered round the room, halt expecting to see Lord Overclifle swimming away from her through that lake of fire. But she only saw the wLite and gold decorations of her bedroom, and, fitting up, she began to grasp the realiUes of life, and to undersmni that she had been sleeping at the post of duty. She sat up in her bed and listened. At first she heard nothing but the ticking of tho clock en the mantelpiece. Then she heard a sound that sent the blood more quickly through her veins—a low grating sound, as though someone were uuttiug laboriously through a plate of glass or steel. She crept quietly out of bed. flung a robe of black velvet lined with table about her, and pat the hood over her face. Then she slipped the revolver into one of the peckets of her dressing-gown, switched off the electric light, and went to the door that opened into the dining-room. Here she listened attentively, and the noise soomod cleairer and more definite. She looked through the keyhole, but saw no trace of light. Then she opened the dnor softly and crept into the dining-room. The noi:?e grew still more distinct. She crossed the room on tip-toe, and looked through tho keyhole of the door that led into her boudoir. The small dimensions of tho aperture limited her range of vision, and she could see nothing save that there was a light in the, room. The noise had ceased. kj,he wondered if the door was locked. She turned the hands very poftly and slowly and pulled it towards her. The door opened half an inch, and she let the handle turn quietly back into its original place. She aiiiilcd at the artlcssness of the thief within. An accomplished burglar would Furc-iy have locked all the doors before he commenced his work.

iShe looked through the narrow slit and saw a man kneeling before the safe. A small lantern threw a circle of light a foot in diameter on the steel door. He was holding something in his hand close to the look. It looked like a small penholder, with two thin tubes running from it into the darkness behind him. Then she saw him light a match and apply it to the point of the pen holder. A thin white spear of flame shot out, and there was a noise like the hiss of an angry serpent. The kneeling form looked like a shadow picture against the blinding light. Then suddenly the man turned round, and catching hold of the lantern, threw its rays on the door. The countess had made no sound, but the thief hears a thousand noises that have no real existence, and his keen eye can detect the slightest change or movement iv his surroundings. Jordison saw that the door was open. The crack was so small that it might have passed unnoticed, but to him it was as plain as a yawning chasm. He knew that the door had been shut, and he thought that he had locked it. He extinguished the oxyhydrogen jet, rose to his feet; and walked quickly across the room. But before he could reach the door, •it. was flung wide open, the electric light was switched, on, and he was confronted by the Countess of Heatherstonc. H<? would have sprung at an ordinary woman and choked her into silence before shr could scream. But ]\f>. stepped bade in horror at the apparition that stood before him. The black velvet robe with the two eyes glittering from the black hood on the face produced so ■weird ail effect that for a moment he thought he was in the presence of some visitor from the spiritual world. He recovered himself in a few seconds. He had heard the story of the Countess of Heafclierstone, and knew who stood before him. But he recovered himself too late. He was now too far from the ■woman !o reach her before she could scream and arouse the household. And there was something in store for him that he tad not counted on. Before he could say a word or niovo a step lip was covered by a revolver. He saw from the way it was handled that it was no toy, but a. dangerous weapon in the grasp of one who knew how to use it. Q\iiek as thought his own hand went to his pocket, but his revolver was entangled in a piece of torn lining. The two eyes watched him from their peepholes, and before he could free his weapon the Countess spoke. '"Keep your hand where it is, -, she said quietly. "If you move it an inch, 1 shall fire. lam a good shot— for a wo- , man." I

Jordiscra did not more. He glared like | a -wild beast caught in a trap. His fierce, hagged. face -was distorted with rage and fear. The mere fact that he •was at the mercy of a woman accentuated the indignity of his position. I "Take out your weapon by the bar-' Tel," continued the Countess, "and lay ii> on the table beside you. If I see that your fingers are on the butt I -will shoot you without another word." Jordison ground his teeth in foxy, but ■he obeyed. For one moment he thought of Hairing everything on a chance shot But the odds were against him, and.

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whatever happened, be would rouse the I household. He resolved to bide his time. I "Now -walk back to the wall. Quick." He obeyed. The Countess stepped for--1 ward, picked up his revolver, and placed it in her pocket. . Then she sat down in a chair, ten feet from ■where he stood. Jordison glanced at the open window. His only hope lay in Lipp, who watched below. If the man could creep quietly up the ladder and ahoot this termagant of a woman, all might yet be well. The motor waited on the road by the creek, and if they could only regain it, pursuit would be useless. But the countess sa-w his glance, and with a woman's wit defined his thoughtsShe crossed to the -window, closed and bolted it, let down the blind, and dre-w the curtains. Yet never for a moment did she take her eyes off Jordison. '•Now/ she said, when she had completed her task. "Will* you explain exactly what you want, and who you are? I think I have seen your face somewhere before." The two eyes glittering through the holes in the mask seemed to be searching every feature of his face, and he shrank from her gaze. He knew that it was very unlikely that they had ever met before, and certainly not since lie had been in Essex. At any rate she could not identify him as William Jordison, of the Red House. But in spite of this assurance, he felt ill at ease. There was something in her look that cowed his fierce spirit. He felt that he was at a disadvantage, for he could not see her face, or read what ■was passing in her mind. He had no answer to give to her questions. But be had to speak, if only to gain time. "You know well enough what I want," he replied!, sullenly, after a ■pavzc,' , and it doe*n r t matter to you who I am." She continued to gaze at him. Then she laughed.

"No," she said, slowly. "I don't rare what your name is. I think I have seen you before. It is enough lor mc that you are a thief and—a murderer." She brought the last word out. with so ominous an emphasis that .Jordison's blood ran cold. He knew well enough now what he had to expect, and that a. lioness robbed of her cubs would be more mp.re.iful than the woman who stood before him. "A murderer/ ehe repeated in a cold, even voice, "the murderer of my son, of my only child. He was al\ that I hud in the world. For two years I have endured a living death, and tho fiipht of him was all that kept mc irom killing myself. Now he is dead, and it is you who hare killed him." The cold sweat gathered on Jordi-;w->ii"s brow. He could not see the spra.kor's face, but the eyes were like those of a. basilisk, turning him to stoiv , . The chill of death was in her voice; but under the cold judicial tone of her speech lay some awful volcano of thought, intense, vibrating with passionate hatred, hot as the very iires of hell. He saw that he had fallen into a trap, and that he would be shot like a wild beast without mercy. He glanco.l round the room, endeavouring to formulate some plan of escape, but onl}' two tilings were clear to him— the nickel-plated revolver and the pitiless eyes that watched every expression on his faco. He knew, however, that he must retain his presence of mind, and, striving to affect an air of indifference, he smiled, and leant carelessly against the wall.

"You are mistaken, Lady Heatherstone,"' he said, pleasantly, "I did not kill your son." "Not with your own hands," she muttered, "perhaps not with your own hands; but you saw him die. One does not make such nice distinctions with a gang of murderers. The one who does the deed, does it for all his fellows. My son's death lies at your door, and I thank God that He bas given you into my hands." "What do you intend to do?" asked Jordison. He needed no answer to this question, but he still wished to gain time. "I am going to kill you," she replied. "I ought to liand you over to the hangman, but I will spare you the horrors of our penal system, the black cap. the open grave, the whine of the chaplain, the burial service read over a living man. I will be merciful, and shoot you myself. Perhaps I shall rest whfn 1 have avenged my son. Each night he cries out to mc from his grave." He vrus silent. His mind harked back to the days of the Inquisition, when masked figures, like the one before him, sat in judgment and consigned heretics to the torfcuio of fire and steel. The very thought of death was agony to him. Life had no pleasure for him, but there was more than one duty to be done before he died. By a strange irony of fate the avenger was to become the victim of a vengeance as stern and unsparing as his own. He moved his right hand from behind his back, and looked afc the ring upon his forefyiger—the flat opal given him by ?»larie de la Mothe, once a pledge of love, now the symbol of an undying hatred. He set his teeth at the sight, of it, and resolved to have a last fling for life. He pressed it to his lips, in no spirit of tenderness, but as a knight of old might have kissed his sword bo fore he went into battle. It was a kiss that tasted of blood.

The Countess of Heatherstone watched the movement, but it inspired her with no pity for her victim. I£ this man had someone who loved him, some wife, some sweetheart who had given him the ring, so much the better. The woman should suffer a≤ she herself had suffered.

Then, as he moved his hands from Ms lips she caught sight of the ring. With her mind full of dark passion she had \ 7iot noticed it before. It was not a very j noticeable thing, for the opal had woru dull and lustreless. But now her wo- i man's curiosity prompted her to glance : at the token which seemed so precious to a man about to die. She saw it, and j stepping forward a pace, saw it still ; more clearly. Then she gave a cry of herrer, and I the revolver dropped to her side. J«r- j dison saw his chance and sprang at her, i ■but she was too quick, and he recoiled j from the muzzle of her weapon. He did '■ not notice how it trembled in her hand. "That ring," she said slowly, trying . to speak in a calm voice, "where did you i get it! Who are you? Where did you j get that ring— the opal ring I mean) 1, j and she looked hard at his face, trying j to read from it another face that always looked out on her from the past. But time and penal servitude and misery and despair, and the wceckxnß <rf mind and. .

soul can. do much to change the features of a man. Jordison was silent. He saw no reasons for gratifying a woman's curiosity at a moment like this. He was still thinking how he could get the better of his adversary. — "You will not ■ speak," she replied. "Then I will speak for you. Your name is John Porteous, and that ring was given you 'by Marie de la Mothe." ■ The words fell on Jordison's ear like a. clap of thunder. He moved forward and stared at the speaker. But the black mask hid everything he wished to see from his view. For more than a minute he stood thus, as though, turned to stone. The revolver was still pointed at bis heart. "Are you not John Porteous?" she continued, '"answer, mc. You are very near to death. Tell mc the truth/ ,, "I was John Porteous,''' he replied mechanically, l- and who are you?" "I am the Countess of Heatherstone,'* she said, '"'but because you are John Porteous, and because you kissed that ring on your finger, I cannot kill you. Go!" And she pointed to the window. He did not move. '"Go!" she cried, "or I may repent. I hear the voice of my son crying out to me."' She lowered the revolver and he moved towards the windtow, passing close to her. He knew well enough now who s-he was, and why the face of the young Lord OverclifTe had recalled someone in his past life. Then suddenly the devil took possession of his heart, and he did the foulest deed of his life. He turned suddenly upon her, pinioned hex arms to bvr siie, took both the weapons from, her, and flung her from him, so that she staggered back against the walL For a moment ho looked at her, then he sprang at her throat. She screamed horribly. "You are Marie de la Mothe," he cried, "and I have sworn to kill you. I am not so merciful as you.' . Then his madness went from him as suddenly as it came to him/ He released his grip and looked at her with a sneer. "No," he said, "I cannot kill you now, for you have given mc my life. God has punished you. I am glad your son is dead. I am glad that " he seized her hood, and tore it from her face. Then ho strnped back and broke into peals of IAUj-htcr. She tried to hide her awful features in her hands, but he tore them away and still laughed. She. moaned lil>e n dying ariimal. There were voices and suuaJs in the passage. Jordison locked the door leading into tbe other room, and returned to her again and once a-gpkin tore her hands from her face. '"The beautiful Marie de la Mothe. ,, he said, locking closer into her The wretched woman shrieked shrieked again. Then she caught the switch of the electri-e light and the room was plunged into darkness, and she sank in a heap on the Door. CHAPTER XIX. AN INQUISITION. ; .Tordison heard the crash of breaking" doors as he slid swiftly down the ladder to the garden. He threw the ladder to J the ground, called out to Lipp to follow I him, and, looking back as he ran across , the lawn, he saw the Countess' apartjments Hooded with light, and two figures j leaning out of the window. A second later they disappeared. lie was triad he had rc- [ moved tho ladder. He had gained at least a minute's start. Fortunately the night was dark and rather foggy, and when the two men reached the park, and the rustle of bushes or crunch of gravel no longer gave a clue to their pursuers, they breathed more freely. They saw a half a hozen lanterns moving rapidly to and fro behind them, and beard men calling out to one nnotber. Their pursuers would have nothing to guide them in their search, and the park was a large place. Vv~hon ctt. last they reached tho spot, where the motor stood, under the shadow of a great cypress tree, they could only see one light, and that was several hundred yards to the north, and close to the

road. They started the machinery and the car glided silently away to the south. It was the opposite direction to the way they wanted to go, but Jordison was determined to take no risks. If the man who carried that single light caught sight, of a motor, he might draw unpleasant but correct conclusions. It took them an hour to reach the Red House. Jordison had to drive slowly, for : he was driving without a head light, and they had to traverse a series of narrow lanes, in places half a foot deep with mud and loose stones. When he had run the motor into the : shed he went over to the stables, unlocked the door of the harness room, and lit the lantern. Then he poured himself out a stiff glass of whisky and water, and ate a thick chunk of bread with a slice of cold bacon laid on it. When he had finished this frugal menl he went out, and, locking the door behind him, made his way up a flight of stone steps to the small loft which he had appropriated as his bedroom. He lit a pipe and began to undress. The bed looked col J and unattractive by the [light of the lantern. He began to think /it was scarcely worth while taking off his clothes. It would be daybreak in jinotiier .three hours. He put on his waistcoat (again, and, taking down a heavy fisherjmci]"s jersey from a pe£ on the wall, | thrust it over his head and struggled into 'it. Then he flung himself down on the : outside of the bed, and tried to go to sleep. He was thoroughly exhausted both in mint! and body. But sleep does not always confer favours where they are most wanted. Jordison closed his eyes, lit pipe I after pipe to soothe his brain, but he ■ ! couid not sleep. ] Tho events of that night had stirred ' .his mind into a Bco'thing whirlpool of thoughts, To many a man the reool'pc- , lion of how cio~f! he had stood in df-ath, ,and now providentially he had escaped,; I would have come to the surface, but to iJordison, one groat central thougnt ! floated rlear above everything else. He I had found Murifi de la Mothe. There was j jnofc a eingle discordant thought of kind- ; ness in the black mass of hatred that j heaved and tossed in his brain. He did ; (not remember that she had lost her only ; ! son, that she was afflicted by a terrible < disease, and that, Co use her own words, i she had found a living death. He did not j : remember that she had spared his life because he had kissed the ring she ones '■ gave him. He only saw the treachery of ( the past, those long years of hell in a | convict prison, years in which she had , risen from a somewhat dubious existence ' to a position second to few held by a ; woman in England. The man's moral i nature had broken down. He was in- j capable of discerning between good and ', evil. He only saw the latter, and he resolved that Marie de la Mothe must die. | That would be an easy matter to arrange. ! The only difficulty had been overcome. She had been found, and a chance meeting had revealed what the expenditure of many hundred pounds Of good money had failed to unearth from the secrets of the past. His thoughts were broken by the • chmking of metal ia the stables under- - neath. It was followed by a stifled , moan. Then there was silence, and then a Lend rat-tie of iron as though; ,

some beast were trying to break loose from its chain. He flung himself oil the bed and kicked on the floor with) his heavy boots. He was answered ( by smother motm. He muttered an | oath, and taking a lantern, made his! way down 'the stairs to the open air, j and unlocked the stable door. He entered and, closing the door be-j hind him, walked to the far end, and! threw the light of his lantern into a> loose box. There in one corner in a j heap of straw crouched a man. His' hands were fastened together with a! pair of handcuffs. One of his legs was! chained to a ring in the floor. A thick i piece of cord was fastened round his i neck, and passed through one of the! supports of the manger. His mouth I was gagged. He could neither stand J up nor lie down with comfort. He, crouched in a sitting position, and leant his head against the side of the stall. : Jordison unlatched the door of the! loose box. As he entered, the man j tried to rise, and his chain rattled.! Then he sank back with *a moan, and I pointed to his mouth. j Jordison placed the lantern on the j floor, and, swinging the man round by j his shoulders, stood behind him and uu- i fastened the gag. [ "Well, Mr Holme," he said, walking> back a pace or two, "have you decided; to speak?" j "Water, for God's sake. Give mc a I drink of water." ■ i "I told my servant to give you some i this morning." * j "I have drunk it. There wasn't \ more than half a tumbler full. You ' have been giving mc salt meat." ! "That shall be remedied to-morrow," Jordison replied, with a grim smile.! "You ehall not have any meat to-mor- j row, and you can have as much water; as you want. There's plenty in the j creek." "Salt water," said Holme, in a low j voice. "You devil. By God, if ii could be free for five minutes. If you' and I were alone in here man to man ■ —just for five minutes, I would not, ask a second longer. If you are a | man. and have any grievance against I mc, let mc go, and tackle mc iike a! man. Jf you get the best of it, you j can kill mc." " ! 'I could kill you just as easily- now," I Jordison replied. "I have no grievance! against you, Mr Holme. But I have! a purpose in life. There's something I wish to find out, and you can tell it to mc." "T can tell you nothing." '"You do not know what is in store for you." Jordison said. "I think you will speak one of these days. Salt water is a poor diet for a healthy man." "You cowardly cur," said Holme. Then he broke into a string of blasphemous oaths, reviling Jordison. and i even reviling the God who had delivered him into Jordison's hands. Jor- j dison stepped forward and kicke.l him ! brutally. Holme did not utter a sound,! but. suddenly risiiig to his knees, stretched out his wrists and struck with all his strength. The iron handcuffs just missed Jordison's kneecap, as the latter sprang back out, of reach. Then he laughed. '"Savage. cli, T ' ne sain, witn a sneer. ■'I think we <!an tame you." Holme sank back on the straw and glared at him like a wild beast. "Why arc you not reasonable?' Jordison continued. "You will be bound to get the worst of it. It is not much I ask of you. You have oniy to toll mc all you know about Arthur Sterious." "I will tell you nothing," Holme replied, doggedly. '"You cannot look mc in the face, and say you know nothing," Jordiaon said stornly. ''I ran see that you are lying. If I thought for a moment that you spoke the truth. I would let you go.": "No, you would not lot mc go," Holme replied. "You dare not after what has happened." He referred to his own imprisonment.

He did not then know that Jordison i had far stronger reasons for keeping ' him from communication with ihe outer world. He did not know that William Outen was dead. I Jordisou bit his lip with vexation. He : saw now that lie had made a mistake. i Only the hope of release would extract any information from Arthur Holme. : And Holme realised that wh-ether h-e , spoke or not, there was no hope of reieaae. He would therefore keep his ; . mouth shut. Jordisou hastened to rej move this impression. ' •'I shall certainly let you go, Mr j Holme," ho said, alter a pause. "I shall j of course ask you to give mc your word of honour not to say anything of what ha 3 occurred. But I shall certainly let you go.' . Holme looked up keenly into the dark j fierce face. '"You He, you scoundrel," j he said, "1 shall never leave here Jilive • with your consent. I shall not speak." '"There are ways of making men ; speak,' , Jordison replied grim.lv. "You j might come to think of death as some- : thing very sweet indeed. You might • even be induced to speak by the offer of I death, liut I will give you one more j chance. Do you know if Arthur SteriousJ is in England?" I • Holme was silent. '"How did his watch get into the j creek; where we found it? ?. Holme was still silent. j "What connection had yon with Ilich- j aid Behag when you were in Valpa- ■ raiso?" £tni Holme did not anpwer. "Do you know anything about Be- : , hag's death that is not known to the ' i police in Valparaiso?" Holme shrugged his shoulders, but j j still did n3t reply. i "Do you know whether it -was Arthur j Ste.rious or Richa-rd Behag, or both, -who \ defrauded the firm of Sterious and Co., \ and do you know what cause of quarrel ♦.here was between Behag and Sterious?" • At last Holme spoke. i ; "I have heard all these questions be- i fore," he said quietly; '"you are wasting; your breath and time. Mr Jordison." i ''I will do so no longer," Jordison re- ' i plied. "1 will gag you and leave you to i think over them till the morning. Are ', j you golag to let mc %2.g you quietly, or ' must I use force ? You know it has to ! : be done. It would not do for anyone to j ( hear you." "I refuse to he gagged until you have ! i given mc some water." j ! "You shall have all you want to- j ! morrow." j i '"For God's sake, give mc some water— \ i juat a wineglass full." J "Not a single drop till to-morrow. Kow, are you going to let mc gag you j quietly?" ° ; i "Come and try it," Holme replied, i rising to his knees. In a second Jordison i was upon him, and had borne him to the ?rouud. Holme dashed his fists in the. 1 man's face, and the blood streamed down j his fingers. He fastened his teeth in his hand and bit out a piece of flesh. Both were powerful men, bat the contest was ■too unequal. In less than a minute Jordison had choked. Holme into insensibility with the rope that -was fastened round his n*c?s> STfegg,?*? £o?ce4 opea tlie

mouth, inserted the gag and seenred it tightly. J When this ■was done he rose to his I feet and looking - down at the prostrate j figure began to fill his pipe. Then he ! palled out his matchbox, but his flni gers shook with tbe struggle he had just j gone through, and the box fell to the ! floor. He stooped down, gathered up J the matches, lit bis pipe and -went out iof the loose box, locking all the doors 1 after him. In less than half an hour he i was asleep. I An hour afterwards, Holme partly re- ! covered his senses. He was i rious. and gurgled inarticulate sounds iin his throat. Lights flashed before his ' eyes, and strange noises vibrated in his I ears. He had dreamt of running water Jin his swoon, and stretched oirt his hand jto find the water jug. He found nothing tent a single wax match. He turned it i-wraod and round in his fingers. Then »c laughed horribly—the langh of a maniac, stilled by the gag into a low I sobbing moan. j (To be continued on Wednesday.)